


Trapped in a Box

by fructoselollipop



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructoselollipop/pseuds/fructoselollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madladyhatter prompted: Emma and Jefferson both get trapped in a room together. Everything they try doesn't work so they have to wait for Snow and David to get them out.</p>
<p>It's not exactly to the letter of the prompt, but I hope it satisfies anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in a Box

It is the latest in a long line of schemes cooked up by Henry and Grace. No one is more frustrated by the way Emma and Jefferson have been dancing around each other than those two. For weeks they have been putting their heads together during recess, putting together cunning little plans to get their parents to at least go on one date together. So far, nothing has worked. The result of all their hard work thus far has been a lot of staring and, more often than not, yelling over some petty argument.

They (Henry and Grace that is) would have given up by now, if it weren't for all the small successes along the way. How Jefferson pulled out Emma's chair for her that one time at Granny's, or the way Emma smiles almost shyly when she sees how affectionate and loving he is with his daughter. Maybe not the sweeping romance told of in story books, but good enough for Henry and Grace. She, who swears her father never looked at anyone else the way he does at Emma, and he, who's never seen Emma so happy, even she's bickering with the Hatter over something stupid.

And, well, that's how Jefferson and Emma find themselves locked in a storage closet in the elementary one afternoon. It was a pretty craft plan, Emma hates to admit. The children had each told their respective parental figure that they were needed for a parent-teacher conference after school, and then tricked (or, in Grace's case, outright pushed) the adults into the closet. It only opened from the outside, and after Henry shouted through the door that they'd be back in an hour to let them out, the two realized they were stuck.

Emma bangs on the door the first ten minutes, trying to draw the attention of a teacher, janitor, _anyone_ , but to no avail. Jefferson laughs at her when she punches the door in frustration, hurting nothing but her own fist. That, of course, turns into full on screaming match, which fizzles out after only a few white hot minutes (they both realized it was an exercise in futility). Now, they are sitting on opposite sides of the tiny room, determinedly not talking to each other while they wait out their sentence.

“How long now?” Emma asks, feeling like the silence has stretched on forever, and her eyes fixated anywhere but the space of wall upon which Jefferson is now leaning.

Unperturbed by being ignored, Jefferson checks his watch. “37 minutes,” he replies dryly. His lips quirk into a smile that matches his tone. “Only four minutes after the _last time_ you asked, Princess.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Shut up.” She pushes herself off the floor where she'd been nursing her bruised knuckles and walks to the door to try the handle for what feels like the hundredth time. It remains as steadfastly locked as it did on the previous 99 attempts. “This is getting out of hand,” she comments finally, sick of the tense silence.

“What is?”

“ _This_ ,” Emma replies with frustration, kicking the door (gently this time) with her toe. “The kids trying to – to _Parent Trap_ us.”

Jefferson lifts his eyebrows in mild amusement (not that Emma sees, with her back still firmly to him). “Oh, I don't know about that. I've rather been enjoying myself.”

_That_ certainly gets her attention, as she finally whirls around to face him. “Oh yeah, I be you have,” she replies, voice laden with heavy sarcasm. “I know how much you like having locked up women at your whim.”

This time it's Jefferson's turn to roll his eyes. “Oh please. I had nothing to do with this, Princess, and you know it.” He pushes himself off the wall then, taking a few steps closer to her. It's somewhat reminiscent of the way he stalked toward her the first night they met, only now Emma isn't menaced in the slightest and she holds her ground. “What's more, you know perfectly well that I do _not_ enjoy kidnapping defenseless women and holding them for ransom.” He stops, now just barely a foot away from her, and smiles. “Though, you and your mother were hardly defenseless, weren't you, Princess?”

It's the closest they've been since that night and now, stuck in these close quarters as they are, Emma is remembering in vivid details just how seductive Jefferson can be, maybe without even meaning to. She's starting to feel hot all over and, though she would dearly love to, she can't seem to break eye contact with him. There's something in that fervent gaze of his that draws her in, roots her to the spot. Frankly, it's why she has been so reticent to look him in the eye up til now.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that,” she says, the softness in her tone reflecting the distinct change in mood.

“Many, many more times, I expect,” Jefferson replies, his smile wry. “That's what you are, after all. Shouldn't I show all due deference?"

A derisive snort escapes her. If the way Jefferson has been treating her is his way of “showing deference,” the she'd hate to see his version of disrespect. “I'm really not,” comes her response, slow and sultry without her consent.

Jefferson's grin widens. “I don't know about that,” he says, and before she can stop him he is twisting one of her blonde curls around his finger. “You didn't believe me when I said you had magic, either, and I turned out to be right, didn't I?” He releases her hair, but continues to touch her tentatively, his fingertips tracing softly down the line of her neck and over her collarbone.

Emma doesn't move, can hardly _breathe_ , as if paralyzed by the contact of skin on skin. She wants to reply with some sarcastic retort, but can't summon the words. Clearly oblivious (or, perhaps, perfectly aware and even _pleased_ ) of the effect he's having on her, Jefferson continues speaking, his voice low in his throat, scarcely more than a whisper.

“You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, Emma,” he says, caressing the hollow of her throat. “You're so much more than a princess. You're a _savior._ ”

“Stop it,” Emma whispers, hating how choked the words sound. Jefferson, for his part, surprisingly complies, both silencing himself and dropping his hand back to his side, but he doesn't move away. Meanwhile, Emma is trying to catch her breath, feeling like she's just run a marathon. “You just used my name,” she says when she realizes it. It's the first time he's called her Emma since that night.

Jefferson gives her a sort of wistful smile. “So I did.”

And just like that they are kissing, all lips and teeth and hair pulling. Emma supposes she should be surprised, but she's really not. Now that they're here and Jefferson is nudging her against the door while dragging his teeth over her lower lip and licking his way into her mouth, it's perfectly apparent that they were always building up to this. Really, the most annoying thing will be facing the smug looks on Grace and Henry's faces when they find out their plan finally worked. 


End file.
